


The Night Concerto

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Tumblr Drabble Challenge [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:19:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6862747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's eyes flash dangerously and his shoulders kick back. Sherlock recognizes his mistake a moment too late. Now, he is faced with the wrath of full-blown Captain Watson. John's fight-or-flight instinct kicks into high gear and his brain is already strategizing for victory, regardless of the consequences. Personal boundaries do not even factor in as John hones  in on the one thing that will make Sherlock comply. He strides across the room and lifts the fragile violin from its precarious position atop a stack Sherlock's most-recently composed music. Sherlock's eyes go wide and the fight seeps out of him immediately. His hands come up in surrender and his voice is soft and edged with fear as he addresses John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Concerto

**Author's Note:**

> #24: "You're the only one I trust to do this."
> 
> For @mphelmsman9

John collapses into his chair, exhausted from the demands of an eighteen hour case followed by a full eight hour shift at the surgery. He clucks disapprovingly at all the clutter that has accumulated in their flat over the past week. You'd think Sherlock didn't care about a single thing in this flat judging by the haphazard way the debris is flung around the room. John knows that's not true. In fact, it's the only reason he doesn't bag it all and take it down to the bins. Sherlock is actually quite meticulous about his organizational system. It's just a hassle getting the detective to undertake the effort. John sighs and decides to let it go for the night. He is too tired to argue with the crazy man. Maybe he'll just make a nice cuppa, take a hot shower, and turn in for the night.

John is just setting the kettle to boil when the door to the flat slams open and rattles on its hinges.

"Christ, Sherlock!" 

John exclaims, splashing water all down his arm as he instinctively draws his arm back, ready to strike. Sherlock barely seems to register John's reaction. He clasps a familiar biohazard cooler in one arm and an intimidatingly-large tome in the other. He busies himself organizing his new acquisitions in the fridge, upsetting the careful balance John had struck between not upsetting Sherlock's experiments and retaining edible food stuffs. He watches the detective with a clenched jaw but manages not to yell. He refills the kettle and waits patiently for it to boil. Once he fixes himself his cup of tea, petulantly not making one for Sherlock, he turns to head for his bedroom. Perhaps, he will just shower in the morning. His nerves are frayed and he must be more tired than he realized. 

As John walks across the sitting room, Sherlock plops bodily onto the sofa and sweeps the papers of the coffee table with his feet, leaving a clean space in which to rest his legs. That's the last straw. John turns vehemently and the cup of tea wobbles in his hand as his body quakes with rage.

"Sherlock!"

He screams. The man flinches in surprise and raises his questioning eyes to John's face.

"Would it really kill you to straighten up now and then? I don't touch your things out of respect for your obscene dedication to an unfathomable filing system, but for Christ's sake, I will not have our flat looking like a disheveled pigsty!"

John can't help himself. He starts flinging things around the room in his fury. The pile of papers on the side table next to the arm chairs whizzes and flutters to the kitchen floor. The heavy tome Sherlock had brought home with him sails across the room and knocks over the music stand, which goads Sherlock into responding.

"Oh  for God's sake, John. Who's being childish now? It's just a little clutter. I mean, really. Get yourself together. It's embarrassing."

John's eyes flash dangerously and his shoulders kick back. Sherlock recognizes his mistake a moment too late. Now, he is faced with the wrath of full-blown Captain Watson. John's fight-or-flight instinct kicks into high gear and his brain is already strategizing for victory, regardless of the consequences. Personal boundaries do not even factor in as John hones  in on the one thing that will make Sherlock comply.

He strides across the room and lifts the fragile violin from its precarious position atop a stack Sherlock's most-recently composed music. Sherlock's eyes go wide and the fight seeps out of him immediately. His hands come up in surrender and his voice is soft and edged with fear as he addresses John.

"Alright, John. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was wrong, just please - "

John turns the instrument over in his hands and glares at Sherlock pensively.

"Please, John."

Sherlock begs openly. He has had that violin for years and it is his most prized possession. It's been his companion through all the dark years and he cannot bear to even think about being parted from it. John's shakes his head and the red fog of Captain Watson clears, leaving kind-hearted John Watson in its stead. John's grip tightens as he realizes the worth of what he is holding. He walks slowly toward Sherlock as he speaks.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. I was just so angry. I lost control, but I would never…I mean, I know how much this means to you and I would never…"

He kneels in front of his flatmate and offers him the instrument with his head hanging low. John is ashamed and fully expects an angry tirade. He deserves it. Instead, Sherlock's fingers wrap delicately around the neck of the violin and he raises it to cradle the instrument against his chest. John can hear the breath whooshing out of Sherlock's lungs in relief.

John chances a peek at Sherlock's face and is shocked to see that the man is studying him closely. John cannot detect a hint of anger in his face. Sherlock's features relax and he smiles lightly and gestures at the spot next to him on the sofa.

"Come up here?"

He requests and John can only comply. He would not deny the man anything after the way he just acted.

"I'm really sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have threatened your violin. I really would never have thrown it. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock makes a low shushing noise and John obeys. Sherlock begins to fiddle with the instrument, tuning it maybe, John thinks.

"I don't usually leave the violin lying out in the open flat."

Sherlock tells him.

"The case came up so quickly that I didn't have a chance to restring it and I didn't want to put it away until that was done. I left it on the table as a reminder."

John looks Sherlock in the eye and is on the verge of apologizing again when Sherlock shakes his head.

"No more apologies, John. We both said things we didn't mean. I know you wouldn't do that."

He looks down almost shyly at the violin.

"There are many people who are privy to my musical prowess, but there are very few that truly understand how much it means to me personally."

Sherlock gazes at John beseechingly. Warmth floods his chest as he realizes how much trust he and Sherlock share.

"You're beautiful when you play, Sherlock. You and the music. You move together. That violin is a part of you."

John confesses softly.

"Do you still need to restring it tonight?"

He asks.  Sherlock nods affirmatively and rises to fetch the strings.

"May I watch?"

John inquires. Sherlock studies his face for a few minutes before smiling. He rejoins John on the sofa with the strings and offers the instrument to John.

"You want me to h-hold it?"

John is suddenly nervous to be breathing so close to the precious thing, not to mention holding it.

"Please." 

Sherlock says as he busies himself with the packaging. John takes a deep breath and cradles the violin as he would a newborn, amazed at the faith Sherlock is showing by allowing him to hold the violin again so soon after he acted so despicably. Once Sherlock has the package open, he turns to John with nervous anticipation.

"Shall I show you how?"

He asks with bated breath. John stops breathing entirely.

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock cocks his head.

"You're the only one I trust to do this, John."

John swallows audibly and feels his heart melt. He watches carefully as Sherlock demonstrates on the first string. The process is over much too fast and Sherlock is handing the instrument back to John.

"Do you want to demonstrate one more time? I'm not sure I really got everything you did and I don't want to - "

"John,"

Sherlock interrupts, 

"You're babbling. Come now. You watched me the entire time. I know you can do this." 

John scrunches his nose in concentration and leans over the instrument as he gingerly repeats Sherlock's actions from earlier. Sherlock guides him gently when he hesitates or forgets the next step. Soon, the entire violin has been restrung and John is glowing with pride and gratitude. Sherlock's body is pressed close against his and he can feel the man's breath against the shell of his ear. It is the work of a minute to set the instrument gently on the coffee table and turn to seal his lips against Sherlock's. The kiss is full of sorrow and apology, acceptance and jubilation.

As he ghosts his lips across Sherlock's sinful cupid's bow, John whispers,

"I love you. I'm sorry. I love you,"

until it fades and becomes a baseline thrumming through the steady crescendo of moans and sighs, composing a concerto, soft and sweet, of their love.


End file.
